


You Love Me (Because You Told Me So)

by sidneycarter



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Fluff, Love Letters, M/M, Romance, all round gooeyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneycarter/pseuds/sidneycarter
Summary: A letter can reveal a lot
Relationships: Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	1. ink and coffee stains

**Author's Note:**

> these are reposted from my tumblr (sidneycarter)! 
> 
> title is from the gorgeous nat king cole song 'love letters'! it wasn't released until 1957 but it's just so sid x sullivan it makes my heart sing. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy these works!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicia reads a love letter that wasn't intended for her, but it warms her heart anyway.

(this part includes a very brief mention of Felicia x Flambeau) 

There’s been a body found on the edges of the Montague estate. _Dastardly business_ , Felicia thinks to herself as Sid drives her to the police station at Kembleford.

She’s taking the maps of the grounds to the Inspector, and has volunteered to answer a few questions about the estate management to see if they might help find leads for the case.

Father Brown, of course, has also given her a second task of digging for any information she can find to help relating to the case. The Father is convinced it’s a murder connected to another in a neighbouring village, and needs all the information he can get.

Sid pulls up outside the station and helps her out.

Felicia heads for the door but stops up short when Sid doesn’t follow her. Normally he likes nothing more than to sit in the police waiting room, tormenting whichever Sergeant is watching the desk that day. The exception to this is when it’s Sergeant Goodfellow, of course, of whom Sid is rather fond, in which case they talk about village gossip and the biscuits Sid would like for the next time he’s in the cells.

But this time he seems hesitant, and pulls a cigarette from his pocket before leaning back against the Rolls. “If you don’t mind I think I’ll stay out here, have a cigarette.”

He seems distant and Felicia frowns in concern. He’s been not quite himself for a few days now, choosing to sleep at his quarters in the Main House rather than in his caravan. He’s been quiet too, lacking in his usual gregarious charm. Felicia even offered to make him a hot cocoa the other night, and he turned it down. He’s known for refusing any drinks Hercule makes (some nonsense about expecting poison), but he _never_ turns down Felicia’s. Something is obviously afoot.

Felicia has her suspicions. While many believe her to be a ditzy, air-headed Lady of the Manor, she is in fact an astute observer and a shrewd judge of character. Working alongside Father Brown, and carrying on with an internationally wanted Art Thief has honed her skills even further.

Felicia senses that something has been going on between Sid and the Inspector. At first she thought they were just friends, but they spend an inordinate amount of their free time together and then fall out and act like strangers in public. If they were _just_ friends surely there wouldn’t be the need for the distance and the secrecy. It’s all rather odd.

Felicia leaves Sid to it, sweeping in to the constabulary and throwing a winning smile at Sergeant Goodfellow. “Good Morning, Sergeant. It’s wonderful to see you. Apparently I’m required by the Inspector?”

Sergeant Goodfellow beams. “Morning your Ladyship. The Inspector said to bring you straight through.”

Goodfellow knocks on the Inspector’s office door and waits for a moment before entering.

“It’s Lady Felicia, sir. She’s here about the body.”

Sullivan looks surprised and a little startled at their intrusion, as if he’d been concentrating hard on something. He’d been writing, and writing a lot by the looks of it. There is some paper in front of him on the desk, filled with scribbles, and his fingers are ink stained. “Right, yes, of course. Lady Felicia, please, um, sit down. Thank you, Sergeant.”

 _He looks tired_ , Felicia thinks as she takes her seat. There are bags under his eyes, and his entire posture seems stooped, like it’s taking him real energy to hold himself up. He looks slightly scruffier than normal, too. Not so much that it would be noticeable ordinarily, but knowing the Inspector’s usually exacting style it looks a little out of place.

He’s frowning deeply, and hurriedly chivvies the paper he was writing on underneath some folders. He takes out his notepad and sighs. “Right. Lady Felicia if you could just –”

The door swings open again, and the Sergeant peeps his head round the door sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Head Office are on the phone and they want a word. They say it’s urgent.”

Sullivan looks like he’d hate nothing more than having to speak to Head Office right now. He sighs once more and stands up, running a hand over his face. “Apologies, Lady Felicia. I hope you don’t mind waiting, this will take just a few minutes.” 

It’s no bother to Felicia at all. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to do a little snooping for Father Brown.

She stands and strolls around the desk, scanning the various folders and binders for anything that looks like it might be of use. There’s nothing really, disappointingly, and she’s about to give up and sit back down again before remembering the papers that Sullivan had shuffled away quickly.

She digs them out from under the folder, and holds them delicately, balancing them on her fingertips. Sullivan’s handwriting is so neat it’s almost difficult to read, very swirly and intricate. Someone has taught him penmanship since a young age, clearly.

Felicia isn’t exactly sure what she’s expecting to be on the pages. But what she reads causes her to gasp softly.

_Mr. Carter,_

_I rather dislike you. Sometimes I am sure that I dislike no one more than you. You continually think it’s acceptable to break the law, to spend nights in the cells, and to make yourself a general nuisance to myself and my officers. I fear that I should hate you, even._

_And yet somehow I can’t. I’m sorry that I shouted the other night. I’m sorry for losing my temper and saying what I said. My problem is that I care for you, far too much than is allowed. It is my worst nightmare to see you walked into court and carted off to the cells for months, maybe years, maybe more. I know Father Brown has good intentions but you cannot deny that the man is occasionally reckless. And I know you think it’s fun to go along with him. My problem, Carter, is that while sometimes I really do not like you, I am afraid that I’m falling irrevocably in love with you instead._

_You make me feel things that I have never felt in my life. Just the sight of you makes my heart beat faster and steals some of my breath away. I feel safe with you, like I could trust you with a thousand secrets and you’d never breathe a word. I feel important, and special, and good enough. I don’t think I’ve ever felt good enough for any one. I find myself wanting to talk to you for hours, and to listen to your views on everything and nothing at all. I think I could sit in silence and watch you and I would still be enthralled._

_I have never felt fire like when you kiss me. How am I supposed to go about my day, sitting at this tiresome desk, when all I can think of are your arms around my waist and your lips at my neck? How can I listen to those hopeless love songs they play on the wireless and not want to be held close by you? How has my life been so discontented by something so small?_

_Perhaps you will think this is silly, and that this is all just a game to you. Well I’m afraid if that is the case then I can’t play it any longer. This cannot be something meaningless or fun to me anymore. My heart won’t settle until it knows you are mine. I am sorry, Sid, for the way I have been recently. But I hope now you understand why, and why truly I cannot help myself. I can only hope my feelings are returned. I am not sure what I will do if they aren’t._

_Your Tommy_

Felicia drops the letter back on to the desk and swallows thickly. A lump has formed in the centre of her throat, and she feels a little choked up. For someone so cold, stoic, and often emotionless Inspector Sullivan has the burning passion of a classical poet.

She feels rather guilty, then, in that moment. She is occasionally rather dismissive towards the Inspector, irritated by his sometimes contemptuous and ungrateful manner, but now she thinks they have a lot more in common that she had realised. She too knows how it feels to have been so repressed and unloved and neglected for many years. She knows how it feels to have to choke down your feelings, and never let them out. She knows how it feels to hide them behind arrogance, a cold, steel wall that very few get to see behind. A way of protecting one’s self from harm.

And yet she also knows the feeling when someone who just _fits_ appears in your life. Someone who breathes life back into your soul and sets you free on a whirlwind of emotions. It’s a beautiful, if terrifying feeling, falling in love. Especially if it’s with someone who should be deemed entirely inappropriate, and rather _criminal_. She knows that feeling all too well.

It turns out that Inspector Sullivan is something of a hopeless romantic. She wonders if he’d like to read her novels.

And how wonderful it is that it’s darling Sid. Sid has allowed him to feel like this. Sid has obviously sparked something within him that has made him want to let out all of his emotions rather than keeping them bottled up. Her suspicions about the pair of them were correct. She wasn’t quite sure it had gone as far as it clearly has, but she can’t be anything less than delighted. It’s about time that someone saw Sid for the kind, protective and intensely loving soul that he really is - it was about time someone could return that love with the same ferocity.

Felicia resolves to never tell a soul about this. This is between the two men to sort out. She has no doubts that they will, and by the state of both of them it’ll happen sooner rather than later. She tucks the letter away, back where Inspector Sullivan had hidden it, and returns to her chair.

Sullivan returns moments later, looking a more than a little stressed, and drops himself heavily into his chair.

 _Thomas_ , she presumes. Tom to friends, and Tommy to someone who holds his heart in his hands.

Inspector Sullivan takes her statements quickly and tells her she is free to go. Felicia bids the Inspector goodbye far more warmly than usual.

As he escorts her from his office, she notices Sid has wandered in to wait for her. He stands up bolt straight almost immediately, his hands twisting anxiously on his cap. “Your Ladyship.”

 _Your Ladyship_. Felicia tries not to scoff. Such formalities are rare from Sid these days. He also seems to be looking through her, at someone standing behind her. One doesn’t have to be a sleuth of Father Brown’s calibre to work out who exactly.

She also feels the Inspector tense behind her. For a moment they stand in perfect, unmoving silence, gazing at each other.

Sergeant Goodfellow appears to be busying himself with some paperwork on the front desk, but Felicia is sure there is a suppressed smile on his face. She wonders if he knows too.

It is Sergeant Goodfellow who puts them out of their misery. He informs the Inspector that there’s something in the back office that needs attending to, and Sullivan snaps out of his reverie.

“Right, yes. Thank you for your assistance your Ladyship. We’ll be in touch if we need you further.” With one last glance Sid’s way, he disappears into the back of the station.

Sid is staring helplessly at the door the Inspector had ducked in to.

Felicia presses a hand to his cheek. “Sidney,” she calls softly, waiting for Sid’s eyes to tear themselves away from the door and on to her face. “Father Brown is expecting us for elevenses soon, we’d best be going.”

“Right, yes, of course.” Sid bumbles, pulling his hat on quickly and offering her his arm.

Felicia takes it fondly. This is why Sid has been so glum recently. Now she knows it’s his first real lovers’ tiff. She has no doubt that the Inspector’s feelings are returned just as vociferously. What a silly pair.

She’ll make sure Mrs M gives Sid an extra scone to cheer him up.


	2. ink and cocoa stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Brown finds out why Sid has been feeling so blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and by popular demand, a letter from Sid to Sullivan!

Father Brown has noticed the concerned glances Lady Felicia has been throwing at Sid all evening. 

He’s glad he’s not the only one that’s noticed his unusually down mood. 

Under normal circumstances Sid would be dancing along to the wireless, teasing Mrs McCarthy, and wolfing down his Shepherd’s pie. Tonight he’s done nothing more than gaze gloomily at the sugar bowl, prodding lifelessly at his dinner. 

Even now, as everyone has retreated into the snug for a game of Cluedo, Sid had declined the chance to join in. 

“Do you mind if I use the study, Father?” He’d murmured quietly. “I need to… write a letter.” 

Father Brown knew better than to ask, knowing that Sid would volunteer information quite freely when he felt ready. “Of course. There should be paper and pens on the desk. Stamps are in the top left drawer.” 

That had been quite some time ago now. Father Brown has narrowed down his suspects, and he’s almost certain it was Professor Plum with the Candlestick. In which room, however, he isn’t so sure. 

Lady Felicia makes a final accusation, suggesting Professor Plum with the Candlestick in the Billiard’s Room. She’s right of course, and she leans back with a triumphant grin. 

“Ah! Drat.” Father Brown says. He’d been so close, yet so far. 

Mrs McCarthy smiles as she clears away the board. “I wasn’t even close,” She ponders. “Anyone for a hot cocoa?” 

“Oh please Mrs M, that would be wonderful. Victory has exhausted me.” Felicia says, collapsing back against her chair. 

“That would be lovely, Mrs McCarthy,” Father Brown adds. “I shall go and enquire if young Sidney would like some.” 

The study door is fractionally ajar, the fire still crackling low in the hearth. Father Brown pushes the door open gently. “Sid?” 

A smile takes over his face when he spies the reason for Sid’s extended absence. He’s fallen asleep, mouth open and snoring softly, against a pile of books stacked on the desk. 

He’s surrounded by piles of screwed up paper - Father Brown can see the furious lines where things have been crossed out and amended. 

There’s one sheet that’s been kept in somewhat pristine condition on the desk in front of Sid. Father Brown approaches slowly. He knows he shouldn’t be prying, but his inquisitive nature combined with his concern for his friend’s sadness takes over. 

He peers down at the paper over the top of his glasses. 

_My Tommy,_

_I’ve always thought of you as that, funny as it is. Mine. From the very beginning, if I’m honest. Since that first day you strolled in to Kembleford nick with your fancy tailored suits and your fancy polished shoes and your fancy slicked back hair. Then you told me you were arresting me on suspicion of arson. From that moment, you were_ my _Inspector_. T _he one that I could wind up, the one that I could poke and tease and push and see how long it took you to crack. Something about you caught my attention and I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop until I got your attention in return._

_Then you started working with the Father more, and we became something like friends. You’d think I shouldn’t have needed your attention any more because a lot of the time I had it. But by then just a little bit of your attention wasn’t enough. I needed it all the time._

_I spiralled if I’m being honest, especially after that time you let me stay for a cup of tea when I fixed the Police Cottage’s plumbing. I had, what, twenty minutes of just me and you, and then I decided that I wanted you all to myself. It’s quite selfish really._

_You see, I’m a simple man, Tommy._

_I don’t do commitment. I’m not one for romance usually. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s what Lady F says. I chat to the girls and I flirt with them and I charm them, but that’s all it is. It’s never_ meant _anything to me_. _Never meant anything at all._

 _You, on the other hand, were a whole new kettle of fish. You made me feel_ something. _Always. Can’t explain it. Don’t know why. Don’t know how it happened. I just know that you got under my skin._

 _I think it really hit me, properly, for the first time, when you came to the pictures with me and the Father - that time we went to see House of Wax. It wasn’t even that scary, but you looked TERRIFIED. I knew how I was_ supposed _to feel in that moment. I knew I was supposed to laugh at you, the big, brave Inspector quaking in his boots. But all I could think about sitting there in the dark was reaching out and holding your hand. I wanted to make you feel better, to walk you home safe from the dark, to tuck you up under my arm until your heartbeat slowed down again._

_I don’t know how to write letters like these, you know. I’ve never really had need before. But what I’m trying to say, Tommy, is that I’ve fallen in love with you._

_If I’m being quite honest, I don’t know what the hell to do about it. Sometimes I think you deserve so much better than me, but I can’t bring myself to let you go. Selfish, I know. I can’t see you as anything other than mine._

_You deserve poetry and perfect letters and beautiful things and I won’t be able to give you that. But what I can offer you, if you’ll take it, is me and all of my heart, which has been yours since the beginning._

_I won’t ever be able to explain how I feel for you in words. If I could kiss the life out of you right now I would. But I know you’re mad at me, and I know it’s my fault. If there’s any motivation for being better, it’s you. I’m really trying._

_I hope you understand, Tommy. I hope you do, ‘cuz at this point I don’t think I could live without you._

_I’ll speak to you soon_

_I love you,_

_Your Sidney._

Father Brown raises his eyebrows as he finishes the letter. He feels a little choked up. 

Sid and the Inspector. 

He’d had his suspicions. There are only so many sly glances, lingering touches and evenings spent together before he would start to presume something. 

The only slightly surprising element here is that Sid appears to have fallen deeply in love. Father Brown traces back the contents of the letter and things about all the times he’s seen them interact. He’s surprised now that he didn’t become certain that this was serious sooner. Certainly from Sid’s point of view. 

He remembers House of Wax. He remembers Sid’s arm lying across the back of Inspector Sullivan’s chair for most of the film. 

And those seconds of eye contact at crime scenes seem to carry much more weight now. 

How wonderful, Father Brown thinks. How lovely it is to experience love. He hopes it works out for them. It almost certainly will, if he has any say in it. Next time they go to the cinema, he shall resolve to sit a few rows forward. He can say his eye sight isn’t what it used to be, and it is true his glasses prescription hasn’t been updated for a while. 

For now, he’ll keep the whole thing quiet. Shan’t tell a soul. Clearly there’s been a bit of an argument, so he’ll wait for Sid and the Inspector to work something out on their own terms. 

Father Brown returns to the doorway and raps his knuckles against the door a couple of times. Sid jerks awake with a startled “’Ullo?” 

There’s a sheet of paper stuck to his cheek which he removes quickly when he sees the Father. 

“Sid, Mrs McCarthy is making some hot cocoa before we retire for the night, and we were wondering if you’d like some?” 

Sid stretches and yawns, looking tired but like a little bit of weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Yes please.” He says, folding up the letter in front of him and tucking it in to his pocket. 

Father Brown smiles as Sid heaves himself up off his chair. “It’ll be ready in a minute. Join us in the snug when you’re ready.” He says. 

He bows out of the room and heads to the kitchen to tell Mrs McCarthy it’s cocoas all round. A gentle smile plays on his face for the rest of the evening. _Sidney Carter_ , He thinks with a chuckle, _the old romantic_. 


End file.
